Skios

42

Oliver Fox had now told Mrs. Skorbatova all about the difficulties he had got himself into in the days when he had been Oliver Fox, and she had gazed at him throughout without saying a word. She was obviously interested, though; particularly, it seemed to him, in the parts that involved his smiling his smile, and brushing aside the lock of hair that from time to time fell into his smiling brown eyes. And above all in the parts where he recounted how negatively so many people reacted to the very mention of the name Oliver Fox. Each time it made her smile in her turn and raise her eyebrows, and sometimes lightly slap his hand.

Now Mrs. Toppler’s hand was on his other arm. “You’re a genius, Dr. Wilfred!” she said. “No one else has been able to get a toot out of her! How did you do it? You don’t speak Russian, do you?”

“No,” said Dr. Wilfred. “I just tell her…” He turned back to Mrs. Skorbatova and whispered in her ear. “Mrs. Toppler wants to know what I tell you to make you laugh,” he said. “But that’s our little secret. The fact that I’m Oliver Fox.” Mrs. Skorbatova laughed again, and gave him a little punch on his arm.

“This is what we need to replace Christian,” said Mrs. Toppler. “Someone like you, who can get along with people. Even with an ice princess who can’t speak English, but who just happens to be married to one of the richest men in the world. You seem to be able to do anything! And stay so calm about it all! Look at me. I’m in such a state! Can’t eat, can’t think — and all I’ve got to say is these two pages! ‘Our guest of honor tonight needs no introduction…’ Whereas you…”

She stopped and looked around.

“Your lecture!” she said. “The script of your lecture! Where is it?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “My lecture.”

“You hadn’t forgotten about it?”

“Of course not,” he said, though in fact just for the moment he had, under the pressure of events.

“So where is it?” she said in alarm. “The script — the text — the words?”

He shrugged. “Inside my head.”

“You’ve learned it by heart?”

“No, I thought I’d just make it up as I went along.”

She gazed at him.

“It’ll be fresher that way,” he said. “More spontaneous. I’ll take myself by surprise.”

“I’ve sat next to a whole slew of guests of honor since this place opened,” she said. “But I’ve never met one like you. Well, if you can make things up as you go along, so can I! And here’s an idea I’ve just had, straight out of the oven and onto the table, still bubbling…”

She put her hand on his arm and began to murmur something that he had to bend close to hear.

* * *

Nikki watched Oliver Fox leaning with his head lowered and then sitting back in surprise. And in one of those eureka moments that the real Dr. Norman Wilfred, she knew, had devoted his life to bringing some order to, she understood why Oliver Fox was so astonished, and why Mrs. Toppler was now waiting so attentively for his response.

Not possible, though! No, no, no! Not possible!

But it was possible. Anything was possible. In the last twenty-four hours that horrible trickster with the modestly surprised look on his face had proved it over and over again.

This was her flash of insight: that Mrs. Toppler had just invited Mr. Oliver Fox to become the next director of the Fred Toppler Foundation.

Her flash of insight was followed by a second flash. Of anger. At Oliver Fox, at Mrs. Toppler, at herself. And at last she knew how to explain to Mrs. Toppler.

The passport. She would simply show Mrs. Toppler the passport. The passport would say it all, just as it had to her.